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Sub. I shall mar
All that the tailor has made, if you approach.
Face. You most notorious whelp, you insolent slave, Dare you do this?
Sub. Yes, faith; yes, faith.
Face. Why, who
Am I, my mungrel? who am I?
Since you know not yourself.
Face. Speak lower, rogue.
Sub. Yes, you were once (time's not long past) the good,
Honest, plain, livery-three-pound-thrum, that kept
Face. Will you be so loud?
Sub. Since, by my means, translated suburb-captain. Face. By your means, doctor dog!
Sub. Within man's memory,
All this I speak of.
Face. Why, I pray you, have I
Been countenanced by you, or you by me?
Face. Not of this, I think it.
But I shall put you in mind, sir;-at Pie-corner,
Sub. I wish you could advance your voice a little. Face. When you went pinn'd np in the several rags You had raked and pick'd from dunghills, before day;
Your feet in mouldy slippers, for your kibes;
Face. When all your alchemy, and your algebra,
Your conjuring, cozening, and your dozen of trades,
I gave you countenance, credit for your coals,
Sub. Your master's house!
Face. Where you have studied the more thriving skill Of bawdry since.
Sub. Yes, in your master's house.
You and the rats here kept possession.
Make it not strange. I know you were one could keep
The which, together with your Christmas vails
Sub. No, you scarab,
I'll thunder you in pieces: I will teach you
How to beware to tempt a Fury again,
That carries tempest in his hand and voice.
Thou vermin, have I ta'en thee out of dung,
So poor, so wretched, when no living thing
Giv'n thee thy oaths, thy quarrelling dimensions,
Would you be gone now?
Dol. Gentlemen, what mean you? Will you mar all?
Sub. Slave, thou hadst had no name
Dol. Will you undo yourselves with civil war ?
Dol. Do you know who hears you, sovereign!
Dol. Nay, general, I thought you were civil.
Face. I shall turn desperate, if you grow thus loud Sub. And hang thyself, I care not.
Face. Hang thee, collier,
And all thy pots, and pans, in picture, I will,
Since thou hast moved me
Dol. O, this will 'o'erthrow all.
Face. Write thee up bawd in Paul's, have all thy tricks
Of cozening with a hollow cole, dust, scrapings,
And taking in of shadows with a glass,
Dol. Are you sound?
Have you your senses, masters ?
A book, but barely reckoning thy impostures,
Face. Out, you dog-leach!
The vomit of all prisons
Dol. Will you be
Your own destructions, gentlemen!
For lying too heavy on the basket.
Face. Conjurer !
Dol. O me!
We are ruin'd, lost! have you no more regard
Face. Away, this brach! I'll bring thee, rogue, within
The statute of sorcery, tricesimo tertio
Of Harry the Eighth: ay, and perhaps, thy neck
And you, sir, with your menstrue—
[Dashes SUBTLE's vial out of his hand.
'Sdeath, you abominable pair of stinkards,
And all the world, and shall it now be said,
You've made most courteous shift to cozen yourselves? You will accuse him! you will bring him in [To FACE Within the statute! Who shall take your word?
A whoreson, upstart, apocryphal captain,
Whom not a Puritan in Blackfriars will trust
The venture tripartite? all things in common?
Or, by this hand, I shall grow factious too,
Face. 'Tis his fault;
He ever murmurs, and objects his pains,
Dol. How does it? do not we
Sustain our parts!
Sub. Yes, but they are not equal.